“It’s what you would call a ‘love-hate relationship,’ ” said T’var as his sense of humor returned.
“Does it matter to you so much then, William Dulac,” the Turlog inquired, “why you have achieved that which you fought so long to gain?”
“I don’t know,” Will muttered. “I thought it did, but now you’ve confused me.”
“Do you have such a deep longing to be liked? Is it not sufficient for now to be respected?”
“If you’re being respected for the right reasons, yes. For contributions to the advancement of civilization, or culture. Not for the ability to slaughter Crigolit.”
The Turlog pivoted to study the seascape outside the bubble. “I am sorry. The S’van and I thought you had the right to know what is the truth of things. For now.”
“Time to go.” T’var tugged on Will’s sleeve. “You’ve heard what I wanted you to hear.”
“But I’m not through. There are questions…”
“Another time,” rasped the Turlog without rancor. “I have eggs to attend to.”
“You ought to be flattered,” T’var told him once they were back in a properly lit corridor. He looked back over his shoulder. “Pasüakilion gave you more time than I’ve ever seen him allot to anyone else, Caldaq included. Not only that, he responded to your own inquiries instead of just delivering himself of information. He very badly wanted you to understand.”
Will slowed his pace to that of the shorter S’van. “I don’t think he liked me very much.”
“The Turlog don’t ‘like’ anyone, not even other Turlog.” T’var led the way into the lift that would carry them surfaceward. “They only help at all because they hate the thought of being subsumed into the Amplitur Purpose worse than they do the strain of cooperating with the Weave.”
“Everything he said was true?”
“I’ve never known a Turlog to lie.”
“Nobody wants us in the Weave?”
They exited at sea level. Will was relieved to find himself back among daylight and conversation, away from the gruff alien and its primal, disquieting habitat.
“Consider the Turlog,” T’var urged his Human companion. “They are not liked, but they’re admired and accepted for what they can contribute. We S’van are often more envied than liked, and no one is especially fond of the Lepar. Why then should you and your kind worry so much on this? You’re in good company. ”
“It’s more than not being liked,” Will muttered. “The Lepar, the S’van, the Turlog are all considered civilized. We’re not. We’ll never be fully accepted until we’ve been invited into the Weave.”
“It will happen.”
Will looked down at the second captain. “When?”
“In time. When you are no longer what you are.”
“Meaning the mindless killing machines depicted in some Weave propaganda? Oh, yes, I’ve been exposed to that. I’ve done plenty of research of my own these past few years.”
“It will not happen in our lifetime, but it will happen.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Of course. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” The S’van smiled ingenuously.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Following the invasion it was much easier for the Weave to recruit Human soldiers. Many of those who had turned back the Amplitur attack were anxious, even eager to sign up for training on Motar. Then there were others who hadn’t had the chance to participate, who saw in the offer the chance to fulfill their dreams of travel, or glory, or simply a chance to fight back.
There were the soldiers and officers of all the world’s major armies, whom peace and rapprochement between the great powers had left idle, with no chance to utilize their own training. Poverty also provided a fertile recruiting ground for Weave recruiters. They made use of the testimonials of early recruits, including some that Will remembered from the early days in Belize.
Weave medical technology was far advanced beyond Earth’s. Even serious injuries could be successfully treated. If a soldier wasn’t killed outright there was a good chance he would make it back home healed, healthy, and well-off. The Weave was generous to its friends.
But there were many who felt as Will did, that mankind had no place in the millennia-long alien conflict. It was no longer a matter of patriotism, of fighting off another invasion attempt, but of free choice. Those who went, went of their own free will. Those who remained suffered no opprobrium for doing so.
While inferior to Weave science in many respects, there was the one area where Human achievement had leaped ahead. Advances in military technology no longer surprised Weave sociologists, however, ever since it had been determined that that was what the species had devoted its greatest efforts to since it had first acquired sentience.
Human scientists and laboratories, given access to Weave technology, soon set to work modifying and improving with a vengeance, turning out improved versions of standard weaponry at a rate that astonished even the S’van. They did so without the reluctance or moral qualms that often plagued Weave scientists. Facilities scattered across the face of the planet competed gleefully to see which could make the deadliest improvement or the most lethal modifications.
They did so without second thoughts. After all, none of their output was intended for use against fellow Humans. Here at last was the conflict mankind had secretly wished for but had never been able to enjoy. No more brother against brother, cousin against cousin, color against color or religion against religion. It was man and his allies and friends against the horrid, cephalopodian Amplitur and their brain-damaged slave races. Humans had always excelled when presented with uncomplicated, easy-to-comprehend options. Us against Them eliminated the need for irritating introspection.
There were a few who called into question the advisability of warring against sentients there had been no dialogue with. Against these arguments were arrayed the tales of returning Human soldiers who had actually fought against the enemy. They had no trouble with moral gray areas. The Amplitur were bent on sucking all other species into their Purpose. They knew not the meaning of neutrality. You were for them or against them.
If you were for them they promised you full participation in their Purpose… under their guidance, of course. Doing what they thought was the proper thing to do, acting the way they thought you should act. Only through resistance did a species retain its independence, its individuality.
There was no need to whip up pro-war hysteria on Earth. No need to spread the propaganda Will feared. The Amplitur and their code of the Purpose was enough to draw adequate numbers to the recruiting stations.
So people went off to fight alongside the Massood, supported by the S’van and the Hivistahm and Yula and the other peoples of the Weave. They returned admired, content, wealthy, inspiring more of their kind to do likewise. The bulk of Humanity was not involved. Will was pleased.
Caldaq was strolling through the upper levels of the base that by now had spread itself across much of the reef. Towers rose high above the still unspoiled waters, dominating the palms and coral islets.
Beyond the reef scheduled shuttles touched down and lifted off, carrying recruits and technicians and supplies to ships recently emerged from Underspace.
The sentry system which had been placed in orbit at the limit of the sun’s magnetosphere was as modern and efficient as the one that circled his own homeworld. Weave warships patrolled the water planet’s outer atmosphere. Mankind felt secure, shielded by its friends even as it declined to participate in their organization. It was a great relief as time passed and no formal invitation to join was extended. It spared Humanity the embarrassment of declining. Mankind had no desire to hurt the feelings of its good friends.
Unbeknown to everyone except the composer Will Dulac, the General Council of the Weave was more than content to maintain the status quo.
A group of decorated Human soldiers were coming down the hall. They wore the yellow-slashed jumpsuits de
signed by the first recruits, and they talked animatedly among themselves as they advanced.
Spotting Caldaq they executed the peculiar hand and arm gesture which among them was considered a sign of respect to a superior. It was called a salute, Caldaq knew, a gesture unknown to Weave forces. Leave it to mankind to invent a purely military salutation. It struck him as unnatural and unnecessary. Why not simply greet another individual as you would otherwise? Why should a uniform make a difference? It was yet another example of the unique militaristic culture which had evolved among Humankind, apparent even in those who chose not to participate.
He waved, well aware that his response was not nearly as crisp and sharp as their own gestures, which they performed without breaking stride or conversation. It was as if they executed it unconsciously. Like breathing.
He turned as they passed, noted a pair of strolling Hivistahm technicians talking with an O’o’yan attendant. One of the Hivistahm saw the approaching Humans and whispered to its companion. Surreptitiously they got out of the way, sidling over to the wall without pausing in their conversation. The Humans noticed nothing. They were not sensitive to the reactions of their allies and hosts, wholly engaged as they were in their own conversation.
Caldaq observed the Hivistahms’ posture, the way their necks retracted slightly, the way their eyelids half closed beneath the gaudy shields. The smaller O’o’yan kept his larger companions between himself and the Humans. They were expressing contempt if not outright fear of those who had just walked past them. It was not an uncommon reaction.
It was known what Humans did. They fought, magnificently. The sentients who did not, could not fight, like the Wais and Hivistahm and Lepar and others, were extraordinarily grateful for this. They admired what Humans did, but they did not like them for it.
Even among his own kind, Caldaq knew as he turned a corner, there were many who disliked Humans. Even those who subscribed to the mythology which was growing up around them. For example, there was no one better to fight alongside in the field than a Human, but outside of combat the Massood preferred not to socialize with them. They did not know how to behave in civilized company.
They were… clumsy.
Jaruselka was calling to him and he lengthened his stride to meet her. It was always a pleasure to be in her company. Her mere presence helped to banish discomfiting thoughts from his overburdened mind.
He had anticipated meeting her in the dining complex, but this was preferable. They could walk the rest of the way together. A Human would have sprinted to join him. Remarkable how they could outrun most anything over a short distance, he reflected. Another characteristic of their peculiar physiology. But over distance nothing could keep up with a Massood.
They exchanged greetings contentedly, nuzzling one another’s necks and murmuring the secret mate-words. Only after she drew back did she express concern.
“You look troubled.”
“No. Just thoughtful.” He straightened.
“That has always been your problem.” She chided him affectionately. “You worry like a Hivistahm.”
“Do not say that,” he replied, amused. “You wished to dine together?” He matched her stride.
“Yes. There is news for you, lifemate.”
“Of the fighting on Kantaria?”
“No. You have been promoted.” Her great eyes were shining.
He slowed, stared at her. He’d been so busy these past years he’d forgotten about such minor matters as promotion. The Massood did not seek personal advancement with, for example, the same avidity as Human beings. It was something that came, if it came at all, naturally and for good reason, like aging.
“I also have been honored.”
“Then the news is all good.”
“Perhaps. You are to be given a battlefield commission.”
He frowned inwardly at that, his eyes closing halfway. “What of my work here?”
“Command feels you can be spared. Others have taken on much of the burden. The S’van interact far better with Humans than do we. It is felt there is no longer a need for a Massood presence in what has become an administrative facility, and as always our combat abilities are desperately needed where worlds are being contested. Kantaria, for example.”
Ironic, he mused. He had anticipated utilizing recordings of the combat on that world to boost local recruiting. Now he would have the opportunity to see what progress was being made there in person.
Kantaria was populated by an immature developing race; mammalian, short and slim as the O’o’yan but without O’o’yan skills. Intelligent but only slightly civilized. They had nearly been conquered by the Amplitur only to have the Weave discover what was happening and intervene at the last moment. And he was to be a part of that vital effort, a part of something the Massood had grimly prided themselves on for hundreds of years.
He was not very familiar with the situation on Kantaria since the Weave presence there was a recent one. He knew only that the Amplitur and their allies were firmly established on much of the planet and would have to be driven off section by section.
“How do you feel, my warm one?” he asked Jaruselka as they walked.
“Pleased to be departing this world. We have been too many years here. We are to be given leave to visit home for a while in recognition of our achievements and the important work you have done. Your ancestors are much honored. As for joining the conflict on Kantaria, that too is an honor given the difficulties our forces face there.”
“What do they consist of?”
“Mostly Crigolit under the usual Amplitur supervision, though there are others. They include a new convert to the Purpose, the Mazvec. It is rumored that the Amplitur are trying them out on a world they have already largely secured in order to assess their abilities as fighters.”
“Kantaria is not a great prize; not a developed world or advanced people. But there is potential, if it can be wrested back from the Amplitur.”
“Fodder for the Purpose,” Caldaq muttered darkly.
“Exactly.” Her gaze roved the wide corridor, so unlike the cramped quarters of the original base. “I like some of the Humans we have met here, but I confess I can only make myself warm to them as individuals and not as a species. When they are brought together in numbers something happens to them. They change.”
“Research continues,” he told her. “Some scientists believe it may have something to do with pheromones. Others delve among the esoteric and the outrageous in search of explanations. It is not something to trouble the Massood. I gladly leave it to curse the sleepings of S’van and Hivistahm. It is easier simply to go where we are told and fight until we have won or lost. There is no ambivalence in combat.”
“Surely there are some here you will miss,” she said. “Will Dulac, for example.”
“Not at all.”
Her surprise was evident. “You have shared a long relationship.”
“What you say is so. I have been cordial to Will Dulac. He was the first Human we encountered and in many ways remains the most admirable, I might even say civilized, example of his kind that I have met, together with a few exceptional tribal leaders. But he is Human, and I am still less than comfortable in his presence.”
They passed a large viewport. Past the towers and palms and burgeoning structures of Lighthouse Reef he could see the distant green mountains of the interior. Beyond, to the north, lay vast Human cities teeming with potential recruits. They were far outnumbered by the great mass of Humans who refused to help, each of whom considered him or herself to be the center of the universe, each of whom was concerned primarily with his or her own well-being and comfort. It was an attitude that made supreme good sense on the battlefield but went down poorly among the other citizens of the Weave.
“No, I will not be sorry to leave this place.”
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Caldaq was bitter and sorrowed. Fighting was not easy anywhere, but Kantaria itself seemed determined to mak
e his life as miserable as possible.
It was an awkward, difficult place of rugged mountains cleft by deep valleys, of swift-flowing streams and constant cold rainfall. The landmass had been heavily glaciated in the recent past and as a result the topography was barbaric. It was matched by the weather, which was intolerable everywhere except a narrow band along the equator.
Worst of all there were no decent places to run.
The perpetual rain was as demoralizing to the sun-loving Massood as the snow which crowned many mountains. The tall fighters tolerated cool weather adequately, but not the constant precipitation. Fungi and mildew sprouted everywhere. Including, if one was not careful, on equipment and feet.
The short, bipedal natives resembled skinny, less hirsute versions of the S’van, but without their civilized graces. When confronted by an alien regardless of origin they fled to their stone huts and huddled fearfully inside around flickering fires. Incipient cities boasted a few larger structures of rock held together with crude cement.
It had taken Caldaq less than a year to realize why Kantaria would never be the site of a quick victory by either side. The terrain made ground combat extraordinarily difficult. While the Kantarians spoke the expected single tongue with local variants and dialects, there was no central seat of government; only local tribes and clans to organize. Their infant network of intertribal commercial contacts was growing but still fragile due to the lack of adequate infrastructure. It was easy to understand why their progress was slow.
The Weave might succeed in liberating an entire region only to be outflanked by Amplitur forces trickling through valleys and along mountain trails. Both sides could win and lose the same sector several times in a year. The enemy could heavily fortify captured towns against assault while battlefield communications remained primitive because relay satellites were shot down as rapidly as they could be deployed.
So the war went on, consisting largely of desultory forays by both sides against each other’s fortified positions. A recent airborne assault on a major town had been a total disaster. Descending craft had come under fire not only from forces on the ground but from those dug into surrounding cliffs and mountainsides. The survivors had likened it to trying to land in a cauldron.
A Call to Arms Page 35
